


Light Under The Lighthouse

by xyliane



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Wings, First Dates, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Oneshot collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9706256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xyliane/pseuds/xyliane
Summary: It's always darkest under the lighthouse--after all, the lighthouse cannot see how brightly it burns.(killugon ficlet/prompt/one-shot collection)





	1. the man in the moon stayed up too late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t go according to plan, but Gon wouldn’t have it any other way. (canonverse, a few years later)

“What was this all supposed to be?” Killua demands, gesturing widely against the clear morning sky.

Gon smiles, relishing how little resistance Killua has to their hands tangled and their bodies leaning against each other. They’ve been out all night, running through quiet streets and climbing in and through closed up amusement parks, getting terrible pizza at 2am from a half awake uni student and fighting over who gets the last slice. Now it’s morning, finally, the first donuts of the day still warm as they sit on the roof of Killua’s hotel and watch the sun come up. The dawn streaks Killua’s white hair with molten gold and pale pink, shining and soft and strong.

Gon rests his head against Killua’s shoulder. He’s missed this in their time apart, having Killua close enough to lean on. It shouldn’t be comfortable, not when Killua’s all edges, but it is better than any pillow. “What was what supposed to be?” he asks.

Killua presses him back with a pointed finger, making Gon whine at the abrupt lack of warmth against his cheek. “The…the everything!” he says. “We just wandered around the city all night.”

Gon hums, an ache in the back of his eyes from the lack of sleep for the past few days. But he’d take that ache any day if it means squeezing out another minute with his best friend. “Did you have fun?”

Killua splutters. “Of course I did! I always have fun with you, even on your stupid ideas.” Gon can’t help but stick his tongue out. His ideas aren’t stupid, especially if Killua had fun. But something about that makes Killua flush bright red, refusing to look at Gon. It’s really cute, but now’s probably not the time to mention that. “You said we were going on a _date_.”

“Didn’t we?”

“We just did what we always do! Only we held hands the whole time.” He holds up the evidence, palms glued to each other and fingers laced, Killua’s pale skin shining against Gon’s.

Gon tightens his grip without meaning to, but Killua squeezes back all the same. “I like holding your hand, Killua,” he says.

Killua clears his throat, somehow turning even redder. “That’s not the _point_ , you idiot. I saw when you went on that date with Palm when we were kids. You had this whole day of set-up you dragged me on, and that was before you even got to her.”

True. The date with Palm had taken a lot of work—Gon’s still pleased with himself for finding the firefly tree, still remembers the delighted look on Palm’s face when she saw it. It’s nothing compared to how Killua looks even now, face squashed with confusion and muscles stiff with bound-up emotions, but it was nice. It’s just not what Gon wants, then or now, because Palm is a friend but she’s not _Killua_.

Gon brushes the sun-streaked hair out of Killua’s face, only slightly surprised that Killua meets him stare for stare. “I only had one date with Palm, so I had to make it special for her,” he says. “Besides, we didn’t know her that well until later—if you date someone you don’t know very well, it has to be well planned. I wanted to make sure she had a good time.”

Killua covers Gon’s hand with his. “So you didn’t plan anything for me?” he says, voice deliberately blank in the way he gets when he’s worried and trying not to show it.

Gon _did_ , though.  He planned for weeks, talking with Alluka in secret to make sure Killua would be free and she’d be busy. Dinner at the place with chandeliers made of gilded chocolate, and a trip to the park with the lightning struck roses where no one would notice two teenagers messing with the lamps. But when he’d shown up at the hotel, his heart beating three times too fast, Killua’d looked like he was ready to flee, a deer caught in headlights with nowhere to run. 

So Gon’d changed his mind. Killua’s happiness is more important than any plans. He says, “You were so nervous when I got to your room, I figured we’d take it slow instead.”

“I wasn’t nervous.” Gon raises an eyebrow, and Killua sighs. “Fine, I was nervous, but I’ve never been on a date with you, and I thought it would be like what you did with Palm. More...formal.”

“I could never do that, Killua, not if you didn’t want it. This is just our first date—I didn’t want you to be unhappy. Especially not about us.”

A small smile blooms on Killua’s face, brighter and warmer than the dawn. Gon feels it all the way down to his toes. “Our first?” he asks. “Does that mean we’re going on another one?”

The thought that Killua wouldn’t want a second (or third, or seventh, or hundredth) hadn’t even crossed his mind, and the sudden realization that he might washes over him in waves of frozen ice. “If you want to,” Gon says carefully.

“Do you?”

For one of the smartest person he knows, Killua can be an idiot sometimes. “Of course I do, Killua! I want to go on lots of dates with you.” And he has ideas. Places they’ve never seen, things they’ve never done. Anything, really, as long as they have each other.

“Good,” Killua says. “Because this would be really stupid otherwise.”

Before Gon has time to protest—going on dates is _not_ stupid, especially when they’re with someone you like—Killua leans in, calloused fingers rough against Gon’s cheek and mouth soft and warm against his lips.

_Oh._

He can’t breathe, even when Killua pulls back and smiles widely, blue eyes reflecting the sunlight and the stars and everything in between. All night, ever since Killua first opened the door to his hotel room and grabbed Gon’s hand and never let go, Gon’s wanted to kiss him. When he groaned at the terrible pizza toppings, when he’d laughed at a terrible joke, when he’d taken off down the road but forgot he was still holding onto Gon. If he thinks about it, Gon’s wanted to kiss his best friend for ages. And now…

“Can we do that again?” Gon says.

Killua gapes at him for a moment, and then bursts into laughter. It rings bell-like across the roof, echoing in the morning air, the best sound Gon’s ever heard. It only starts to fade when he leans their foreheads together like Gon's a rock holding his universe together. Once he’s recovered enough to speak, Killua says, “Yeah. I'd like that."

The words settle under Gon's skin, glimmering and warm like sunlight on a stream. "Good," he says.

Killua holds up a finger. "But only if I get to take you out this time.”

“No way! I’ve got the next one,” Gon says. “You didn’t like this date enough, so I have to make up for it.”

“It’s my turn, dumbass,” Killua says.

“Is not.”

“Is too! And it’ll be way better than anything you’ve got. I—”

Gon cuts him off with another kiss, relishing the way Killua grins against his mouth. _Next time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [written for @canzie-gumm](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/post/157177652138/the-man-in-the-moon-stayed-up-too-late). title is a song from fellowship of the ring because sap knows no fandom boundaries.


	2. earworm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the lyric is “in a day or two,” but as far as Alluka can tell, neither Brother or the stranger in their kitchen care all that much. (modern-ish AU featuring 80s pop and terrible misheard lyrics. [some thematic music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914))

Alluka loves her brother, really she does. Not just because he’s her family, or that he’s the reason she’s not locked up in the family mansion anymore, or even because he knows the ice cream parlor in town to get the very best triple chocolate cake shakes in the world.

(Killua says he’s conducted extensive research to determine this, and on this subject, Alluka believes him wholeheartedly.)

Yet…Well, she’s been living with him for the past few months, for the first time since Alluka was young enough to need adult supervision to even consider leaving her room, let alone the mansion compound. She knows he’s got weird quirks. For the most part, she already knew about them because he’s her _big brother_ , and she’s his sister, and they know each other.

But before now, before the apartment and university and living on his own, Killua’d never had to do chores. He’d never had to wash his own clothes. He’d never _cooked_. That’s what the butlers were for! And field dressing or camping does not count, Brother, that’s a few days in the woods not a whole lifetime of taking care of your own apartment. That he would do chores like that in this apartment is something Alluka never considers until he’s actually up on his days off, rag in hand and the smell of chemicals and soap in the air.

So before, since he’d never had to do chores, Alluka had never realized Killua has a tendency to sing while he does housework.

Sing really loudly.

It’s not that Killua has a bad voice or even a bad taste in music most of the time. It’s just that his choice in music for housework is a little…well…Earwormy. It gets worse the later in the day it gets. And since Killua thinks getting up at the crack of noon is early, it feels like there is never a cleaning day _not_  filled with horribly catchy music.

“Brother if I have to hear The Proclaimers one more time today I am going to delete your entire music collection!” is not an uncommon threat. The problem is that Killua knows she’ll never follow through with it. Nanika really likes the sound of Brother so unabashedly happy, humming along with the pop music in the back of Alluka's mind and sometimes getting them both to sing along with him.

It’s another Saturday when the first strains of music start wafting through the tiny apartment, drifting through the door to Alluka’s room like a synth-filled breeze. Brother doesn’t have work and really should be doing his homework, so is procrastinating by cleaning the entire kitchen. She does her best to shove headphones on, making the beads in her hair bounce violently, but the damage is done. And Brother is already singing, softly at first but then…

_Taaaaaake ooooooooon meeeeeee (take! on me!)_

“Brother what did I say about playing synthpop!” Alluka bellows in a calm and understanding manner that is certainly not at the top of her lungs. The music doesn’t stop, although the singing does momentarily. Alluka breathes a sigh of relief and goes back to her linguistics textbook.

That lasts maybe half a verse before the singing starts up again, even louder and more discordant, like Brother has somehow multiplied his voice as well as the volume. Alluka yanks the door open hard enough to worry that she might have dented the wood and storms the ten feet to the kitchen. “Brother, what—”

Rather than his normal technique of physically attacking a cleaning task, Brother is dancing around the kitchen in his socks, white ponytail flying around every time he gestures with a dustpan standing in for a microphone. Another person, a guy about Brother’s age with spiky black hair and a bright smile gleaming against brown skin, is using a spare pair of pens to drum on a green and orange backpack almost as big as he is.

“You idiot! There are actual words to the chorus!” Brother is saying, but he’s laughing, light and sugar-sweet.

The other guy tries to pout around a massive grin. “There are not! It goes—”

_In a day or—_

_Doot da doot DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_ _hahahaha_

The failure at the lyrics makes both of them laugh so hard they collapse against each other, holding their sides like it hurts to breathe while the jaunty music keeps playing.

Alluka can’t remember the last time she saw her brother laugh like that.

The guy notices Alluka first and tries to hold back his giggles long enough to poke Killua in the side. That makes Brother wince and laugh some more, but he finally notices his sister gaping at the two of them. “Alluka, you know that the line goes—”

“Yes, Brother. I’ve heard you sing it enough times,” she says. Being annoyed is difficult when Nanika is giggling with glee.

Killua flushes red, but the other guy’s grin just widens. “So you _are_ the person singing on the weekends!” he says.

Brother stiffens a little, probably preparing for the worst. “Yeah, so?”

“I really like that! I hear you sometimes on my way home.”

Whatever Killua’d expected, it isn’t that, because he turns even redder than before. “Is that why you just wandered into some stranger’s apartment like an idiot?” he says.

“Sure! But if I’m an idiot, so are you for leaving the door open.”

Nanika scores a point in the guy’s favor as Brother splutters a little. “Are you going to introduce me, Brother?” Alluka asks sweetly, as though she’s not hoping she remembers where her earplugs have gone.

Killua stands, pulling the other guy to his feet. “Yeah, sure. This is Alluka, my sister. And this is…” He pauses and looks at the guy as though seeing him for the first time. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t know who he is?” Alluka chokes out over a laugh. “Anyone could have walked in while—”

The guy cuts her off with a blindingly bright smile. “I’m Gon!” he says and holds out his hand. “I live down the hall. Nice to meet you, Alluka!”

“You too, Gon,” she says, and accepts the handshake. “And this is my brother Killua.”

The smile gets turned on Brother, and Alluka swears she can see him melt a little. “Hi, Killua!” Gon says.

“We live here,” Brother says like an idiot.

“Yeah, I know,” Gon says like the exact same sort of idiot.

Alluka doesn’t know whether to squee or throw up. She settles for rolling her eyes. “I’ll leave you two to the cleaning,” she says, and makes it as far as her door before the singing starts up again, not just one voice but two in a ridiculous cacophony. Alluka mentally begins allotting money towards a new pair of noise-canceling headphones to block out Brother’s cleaning music.

She has a feeling this is going to happen a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it helps, it's stuck in my head again now, and gon's mishearing is 100% based on my years worth of not thinking this song's chorus had words. [original on tumblr](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/post/152275491303/earworm)


	3. on the importance of phone calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua is definitely not avoiding calling Gon. That would be ridiculous. Although his friends see it differently. (canonverse, a few years later)

It’s not the first time that Killua calls Gon, far from it, but this time seems. Well, it seems more important, and less important. It could be the most important phone call Killua ever makes, or it could be a complete non-entity. It’s highly likely he’s making mountains out of molehills, or that maybe he’s not taking this seriously enough.

As it is, Killua has been staring at his phone for the last twenty minutes, wondering what exactly was just so _important_ about calling Gon being important. Or not being important.

He hears himself make a noise that sounds less like the seasoned Hunter he is and more like an angry kitten unable to catch the light from a laser pen. He drops himself onto Palm’s couch with a thump, carding his hands through his hair. It’s getting long again—either he’ll need to start wearing it tied back, or find someone to cut it.

 _You look like a dandelion, Killua_! Gon’s voice laughs at him from a week ago, and a phantom puff of air ruffles the white curls like someone blowing on it.

He makes the noise again, and wonders for a moment if he squeezes his head hard enough he’ll stop worrying about this. Instead, he jolts back to his feet, taking a few steps before perching back on the couch, shoes and all, his fingers toying with the couch’s cushions. Palm has terrible taste in furniture, if all of her furniture feels like this one. It doesn’t even fit the design of the rest of the room, black where the rest is brown and green where Palm’s accented the room in soft reds. And that chair next to the bookshelf is _way_ comfier than this pile of rocks.

The phone stares at him from the table. It’s just a stupid phone call! He’s made _plenty_ of phone calls. He’ll make plenty more. It’s not like this one will be life changingly momentous.

Gon’s already changed his life in the past. This is just… _more_ of that. Definitely something Gon would do.

Maybe Killua will just text him. That’s enough. Right? He can even do that later. Or after dinner. Maybe when Alluka comes back. Or--

“Killua, if you are going to turn into a cat, use something other than my couch as a scratching pole.” Killua jumps about ten feet in the air, landing in a crouch on the back of the couch. Palm looks like she’s been standing there for a while, but for all Killua knows, she could have just come from the other side of town.

He double checks his fingers. No claws, so there isn’t actually a chance of him ripping Palm’s furniture to shreds. He’s not _that_ out of it. “It might make it comfier,” he says instead, kneading at a cushion with his knuckles. “What is this made out of, marble?”

Palm crosses her arms, the gem on her forehead glinting ominously. “It’s a gift from Knov, don’t you dare insult it,” she says—her expression remains mostly calm, entirely counteracted by the creeping black aura coming out of the air around her. Killua presses as far back as he can, holding up his hands in defense. Before he’s able to react, Palm swoops down and grabs his phone. She presses the display and scowls at the password box. “Have you called Gon yet?”

Of all the things that Palm could ask about, that’s probably some of the worst. Killua can feel his ears beginning to burn. “How do you even know that?” he demands. He hasn’t even told _Alluka_. There’s no way Palm knows. Right…?

She tosses the phone at him, making him scramble to catch it without falling. “You have been stuck in your head since you both arrived, and Alluka is worried about that, which makes me worried. And I don’t like being worried about a _phone call_.” There’s a knife in her hands, because Palm always has knives in her hands, and she uses it to play with one of her fingernails. “What are you waiting for?”

The flush is spreading from his ears. “I’m not waiting for anything,” he says.

Palm’s scowl deepens. “You can be such a brat,” she says. “What is this even about? You two didn’t have a fight, did you?” When Killua doesn’t immediately respond, Palm’s grip on the knife changes. It’s not enough to be actually threatening to Killua, but he’s been friends with her long enough to know one thing she hates more than anything is having to replace all the knives she breaks from being frustrated with her friends. It does not worry Killua nearly as much as when he was a kid, before he got to know Palm, but still. She breaks a lot of knives around Killua.

(Gon got her an entire set of stainless nen-sharpened blades for her birthday last year. They’d lasted maybe two whole months before most were found chipped and buried in a wall. While Gon’s gifts are always incredibly thoughtful, they don’t always take into account things like personal safety.)

(Killua and Alluka had gotten her a sun hat that fits over her forehead gem. Palm looks great it in and as a further bonus probably won’t use it as a weapon.)

And the thought of having a fight with Gon over… _that_ is just ridiculous. “We’re fine,” he mutters. More than fine, really. When she doesn’t relent, expecting something more of an answer, he sighs. “I–”

Thank fuck, the phone rings in one of those stupidly catchy tunes Gon always puts on his phone whenever they visit each other. Killua doesn’t even glance at the number before hitting the call accept. Basically _anything_ other than continuing that conversation. It doesn’t even occur to him that Gon could be on the other end of the line until he's already got the phone to his ear. "Yo!"

“ _Killua what did you do to Gon???”_ Knuckle barks, loud enough for Palm to wince at the volume. Killua momentarily regrets getting this phone for its sound clarity.

“I didn’t do anything!” he says. Except maybe he did, but he’s not telling anyone that, let alone Knuckle. “What did _Gon_ do?”

Knuckle growls. “ _He was supposed to help out on my hunt, but his head’s been stuck so far up the clouds the last three days I don’t think he can see ground anymore,_ ” he says. There’s the sound of a half-dozen mutts yapping at Knuckle’s heels, and he makes disgusting cooing sounds at them. Killua does the entirely grown-up thing and makes barfing noises. Palm tries and fails not to laugh. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like Knuckle even notices. _“He was supposed to call you yesterday. Did you hear from him?”_

“Not…exactly,” Killua says. Of course Gon wants to call him, because Gon _always_ calls him. Or he calls Gon. They just haven’t had the chance to talk, and their last conversation had been mostly bickering about Pariston. But the thought makes him grin. “Not unless you know the key to Pariston’s nen? Gon and I have a bet going on, but neither of us know him that well.”

“ _What’s that supposed to mean?_ ”

“It means none of your business,” Killua says. He can hear Knuckle shout  _Respect your elders!_  as Killua hangs up as abruptly as possible and tosses the phone onto the table with a little more force than necessary. It skitters across the surface, screen up.

Palm picks it up and hands it back over with an expression of bemused annoyance. “You’ll figure it out eventually,” she says.

Killua blinks up at her. “The thing about Pariston?”

She shakes her head, exasperated. “The thing about Gon.”

That draws a smile out of Killua despite himself. He could very well _float_ , because he’s actually figured out “the thing about Gon,” has for a week. And from the way Palm’s eyebrows twitch, it doesn’t look like anyone but him’s really gotten confirmation on “the thing.”

_("Hey, Killua, can I_ _…do you…?"_

_Like it's even a question, when Gon's calloused hands are tangled in his hair and Killua's close enough to see the gold and green flecks in his eyes. "Shut **up** , dumbass, and let me kiss you.")_

Yeah, definitely has confirmation on that. It’s just now he has to talk to Gon on the phone again, when he can’t look at his smile. And they should really talk about the…the _kissing thing_ anyways. They didn’t have much time after it happened, since Gon had to leave for a new job and Killua and Alluka weren’t staying in town long. Killua isn’t even sure the next time they’ll see each other. But there will be more kissing in the future, or his name isn’t Killua Zoldyck.

Some of his stupid, floaty thoughts must make it to his face, because Killua is suddenly subjected to pointy nails ruffling his hair. “You really are an idiot,” Palm says fondly. “It’s just Gon. Call him.”

“Leave and I will,” he says.

She switches the ruffling to a full noogie. Killua doesn’t resist. “This is my house, brat,” she says, but leaves all the same, leaving Killua with nothing but his phone and Palm’s too-hard couch.

This is stupid. It’s not like he’s scared. Killua knows what it’s like to be scared. It’s not this stomach-flopping, heart-soaring thing, where he can fly as easily as he can smash into the ground. This is more like the first time he used kanmuru, where there may have been a chance for everything to go horribly wrong but he _knows_ it’s going to be fine. More than fine. Like a week ago, when he kissed Gon.

He laughs a little and punches in the familiar number. Palm’s right—it's just Gon. It’s just another phone call with his best friend.

The dial tone cuts off, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from the other end. “ _Killua_ _—!_ _”_

Killua smiles. “Hey, Gon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [(published 7 months ago haaaaaaa I've been writing this stuff for almost year what did this show do to me)](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/post/145993711443/on-the-importance-of-phone-calls)


	4. fly through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a one word prompt from the WONDERFUL AND AMAZING [@decembercamie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DecemberCamie/pseuds/DecemberCamie): "flying" (winged killua AU)

Gon stares, mouth open and eyes wide as Killua’s wings curl nervously around his body, white and gray and blue-flecked feathers curving down from his shoulder blades. Killua sighs and braces himself for the inevitable barrage of _can I touch them_ or _that_ _’s so weird_ or _you must be an angel_ that always erupts whenever someone finds out about the Zoldyck legacy. It’s annoying to be pestered, so Killua keeps his wings hidden, staying grounded until he’s on his own again. So out of everything that could shut his best friend up, why does it have to be _this_ , his stupid wings and his stupid heritage and his stupid stupid need to show everything he is to Gon—

“Are your wings are closer to a peregrine or a kestrel?”

Killua’s thoughts grind to a halt with all the grace of tripping off a cliff. “Why is that the first thing you ask?” he demands.

Gon smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, it’ll change your flight patterns, right? They look like falcon wings, but the colors are different, and the markings aren’t…” Gon drifts off, turning a little red. “They match you, Killua.”

“How’m I supposed to know what bird they’re like, you idiot.” But relief rushes through him, relief and utter glee. He’s wanted to show off to Gon for _ages_ now, just waiting to get away from everyone else and…

Killua wraps his hands around around Gon’s waist, pulling him tight as his wings unfurl and lifts him onto his toes. “You want to know what it’s like to fly?” he asks. Gon laughs, startled, and loops his arms around Killua’s neck so his spiky black hair tickles Killua’s nose. A rush of adrenaline makes his fingers and toes tingle in time with the grin on Gon’s face, like he’s about to dive through a cloudbank in a storm. “Why don’t I show you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [link a doodad](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/post/156512928985/for-the-one-word-prompt-thingy-killugon-flying)


	5. the time and distance of freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua is distracted because Gon has freckles now. It’s been years–should he be surprised? (canonverse, reunion fic, in a few years)

_“Come find me!” Killua says, the terrible phone connection turning his voice into barely understandable crackles on Gon’s voicemail. Alluka laughs in the background, demanding her brother say hello for her. “I won’t tell you where I am, but you'll know where to look.”_

_Gon’s cheeks hurt from grinning. For the first time in ages, he has something he wants, a trail emblazoned with sparkling blue eyes and a familiar smile. There are so many places Killua could be, because there’s no reason this should be an_ easy _hunt. Easy would be boring, and nothing is boring when it’s Killua._

* * *

 

 

Killua tries to not not think about the length of time between the last voicemail he leaves and when he sees Gon again. He carries on with his life and avoids the thought of how his phone weighs more than ever, how every dark-haired stranger makes him pause for a moment and hope. So he’s not at all prepared when Gon finally tracks him down in a run-down bus shelter, halfway between visiting his sisters and starting a new job with Palm and Ikalgo on the other side of the country. **  
**

Somehow, it’s not the fact that Gon shows up out of nowhere looking like he's been on the road for weeks that shocks Killua. It’s part of what makes him so interesting, after all: Gon makes doing the impossible not just seem possible, but inevitable. Instead, it’s the smattering of freckles across his nose.

Even with the highest quality vidscreens—a luxury neither of them have most of the time, between travel and running and barely-connecting messages—Killua’s certain he would never have been able to see the freckles until they’re standing face to face, the first time in _years_ , and neither of them can stop grinning but neither of them knows which way to move. But now that he’s noticed them, he can’t stop staring.

Killua feels kind of stupid. Of all the things to notice about Gon, it’s not that he’s still wearing shorts (although they’re longer, pockets full of knick-knacks and dog treats and who knows what else), or that his boots aren’t green anymore (they’re brown, maybe, under the mud), or that he’s no longer eye-level with Killua but somewhere around his nose (his hair still sticks up the same way, and if it’s a bit shorter that’s neither here nor there). It’s not even the way his arms have started to fill out, or that he’s finally gotten rid of that stupid green jacket and replaced it with a just-as-stupid green vest over orange shirt, like he can’t and won’t get rid of the colors (and Killua’s not sure if he’d want that, because green is a jungle is _Gon_ ).

No, it’s trying to count the freckles dusted across Gon’s cheeks. There’s not a _lot_ , but Killua doesn’t remember them even from when they parted at the World Tree. He doesn’t remember them from before that, either, the time when days blurred into months and it seemed like they knew everything about each other. Has Gon always had freckles? Because Killua knows he’d have wanted to touch them, trace the constellations across dark skin—Is Gon blushing? Why would…?

Before Killua can figure out the answer to that question, Gon breaks eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to get rid of the redness spreading across his skin.

It’s like a lifetime’s passed since they have been together, days and weeks and months and years. Killua could have counted how much time passed—for the longest time, he did, tracking passing days like other people hold onto snow globes or favorite songs—but at some point, it didn’t matter as much exactly how long it was between phone calls or letters. If asked now, Killua wouldn’t be able to give an answer other than _too long_.

“Long time, no see, right?” Gon says to somewhere around Killua’s ear. Killua _knows_ Gon’s voice has changed a lot since they were thirteen. He’s heard it on the phone more times than he can count, cracking and cackling over unstable connections and shitty wifi. But it’s still different in a weird way, like how Gon’s freckles is same-but-different in a weird way. It tingles down his arms like bottled-up lightning, making his chest ache. It’s almost like a dream, one he’s had more often than he’ll ever admit, not to anyone, not even to Gon.

Killua swallows. This is just Gon. _Gon_. One of his most important people in the whole world. His best friend. But it’s harder to find the right words now that they’re in arm’s reach than when they were speaking from opposite ends of the world.

“What took you so long?” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

Gon huffs, and for a moment they’re thirteen again and arguing over the best route to Masadora. “It wasn’t exactly easy to find you, Killua.”

He tries to grin, scratching the side of his cheek. “Yeah, well. That was the point. No one finds me if I don’t let them.” It’s always been for Alluka and Nanika, really, but after more than two years, secrecy is second-nature. Even with a semi-permanent base to come back to, it’s not like Killua’s had a home, not since he left Kukuroo Mountain when he was eleven. If anything, home has been a person. People. Those he loves.

Gon still won’t meet his eyes, instead focused on his shoulder or the stop sign behind him. He’s so still, hands gripping his bag tight enough to turn his knuckles white, and Killua doesn’t know what to do to break the glass bubble they’re in. He takes a deep breath and lets it out all at once, hoping it takes the nerves with him. “I wouldn’t’ve _let_ you find me if I didn’t want you to.”

“I know.” His best friend drifts off, searching for words that once came easily between the two of them. “I wanted to see you again, but…”

The words burrow into Killua’s chest and squeeze, because there’s little he’s wanted more in the last few years than that same thing. He’s changed—they both have, not just in height or weight but how Killua has new friends in new places, or how Gon turns over his words before speaking. 

Gon bites his lip, forcing the words out. “You have your own life now, with Alluka and your friends and everyone you’re always telling me about. I don’t want to mess that up.”

“You won’t.” Killua doesn’t recognize the look that Gon gives him, shame and apology and brief flashes of something like hope. “Gon, you’re my best friend! You’ll always be part of my life. I want to spend time with you again, even if it’s not as much as it used to be. And I…”

_I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we were kids, when we could do everything as long as we were together. I want that back. I want **you** back._

The admission stays locked in his throat, walled up by other realizations that threaten to cascade through even the strongest resistance. All that comes out is a quiet, “I missed you, idiot.”

Gon swallows a sob with a laugh, eyes watering and face split in a grin that hasn’t changed at all, sun-bright and familiar as a punch to the face despite the freckles and to spite the years. “I missed you too, Killua.”

There isn’t any way to reply to that, not with words. When they first met, before Killua got to know himself beyond blood and claws, Killua wouldn’t have known how at all. Even the last time they were together, freshly scarred from wounds that still have not entirely healed, the very thought of responding would have been next to impossible. But they’ve changed, and now Killua reaches across the distance without even thinking about it, pulling Gon into a hug and not letting go. Gon lets out a huff of surprised laughter and after a long moment hugs back, arms tight around Killua and nose buried in the crook of his neck. He’s warm, and he’s solid, and he’s _here_. With _Killua_.

It’s not until then that Killua realizes just how much a hug is the simplest and the most complicated thing he never knew he needs, how much he missed his best friend, and it only makes Killua hold on tighter.

“You give the _best_ hugs, Killua,” Gon says, voice muffled from burrowing into Killua’s shirt. Killua pretends to not notice his tears, and laughs until he is crying too.

They’re together again. It’ll be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dear togashi: get well soon and let these boys be happy and together again please and thank you ([originally written for killugon day 2k17](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/post/155562856713/the-time-and-distance-of-freckles))


	6. marked up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leorio is of the opinion that he does not want to know. Ever. (canonverse, some time later.)

There’s a lot Leorio takes for granted, being a Hunter and a doctor. For one, that his friends tend to be really, really weird. And not just the weirdness that is Gon Freecss managing to mangle his arm every six months like clockwork, or how Killua Zoldyck can shoot lightning from his fingertips and usually uses that skill to turn metal surfaces around Leorio into minefields of static. Or even that one of Killua’s closest friends is an octopus who likes to hang out on his head like an oddly-shaped rifle-wielding hat.

All that? Totally fine. But he never expected Palm Siberia leaning over to him and whispering intently, “Did you notice the hickeys on Killua’s neck.”

Leorio does not ever, ever want to think about Killua doing _things_ that lead to _hickeys_. That’s tantamount to thinking about Gon doing those same things, and both of these boys are practically his little brothers. No matter that they are in their late teens and more than old enough to do these things, or that Leorio was certainly doing _things_ when he was younger than them. If they’re finally dating? Great. Legitimately wonderful. He’d appreciate the warning so he can clear the blast zone if anyone tries to get between them. But making out? _Sex_?

Palm taps carefully manicured and very sharp nails against her biceps. “Aren’t he and Gon dating? If they are, there’s a good chance there could be hickeys.”

“Speaking as a licensed medical professional,” Leorio says, “I am not thinking about this.”

“Thinking about what?” Gon chirps. He’s got a school book propped against the couch cushions, although the book itself is upside down and Gon is juggling his notebook with his feet.

Palm plasters on a kind and welcoming smile that makes the skin on Leorio’s neck crawl. “You know, Gon, Killua does seem to bruise very easily,” she says.

Gon’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Not really,” he says. “Killua’s really strong. He carried Ikalgo all the way up to his sniper perch yesterday along with all our gear.”

“Yeah I'm strong,” Killua says. “What’re you talking about?”

“Leorio’s thinking dirty thoughts and Palm is asking weird questions.”

“I am not!” says Leorio, although the boys obviously don’t believe him.

Ikalgo curls a tentacle around Killua’s short ponytail, trying to stay nestled in his friend’s mess of white curls. “What sort of weird questions, Palm?” he asks.

“Since Gon and Killua have begun dating—”

Like a button’s been flipped, Killua turns red as a tomato. “Since we started what _._ ”

Palm shrugs. “If you have begun seeing each other, it is entirely ordinary for certain signs to result. They are almost like symbols of affection, or love.”

“How did—but we’re—Palm what the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

Gon, who has been sitting forgotten on the couch, cocks his head to one side. “I think it’s the hickeys,” he says, and points to Killua’s neck.

Killua smacks his hand across the spot. “The _what_.”

Leorio should be worried at just how red Killua is turning. It’s not healthy, probably. But the opportunity to fluster Killua doesn’t exactly come around every day. He says, “They definitely look like bruises on your neck, and like Gon says, you don’t exactly bruise easily.”

“They’re not hickeys!”

Ikalgo scurries off of Killua’s back towards the couch. “I swear, I didn’t do anything,” he says to Gon, who just crosses his arms and looks at Killua, his mouth twitching.

“Then what happened?” Palm asks, her voice choked. Or more choked than usual.

Killua gapes. “You assholes these aren’t—” He takes a deep breath and starts laughing, little hiccups of near-hysteria. “Ikalgo got scared going up the building and almost strangled me! These aren’t hickeys.”

“I have a beak,” Ikalgo mutters. “I can’t give someone a hickey. That’d be gross. And possibly pierce their windpipe.”

Leorio glances at Palm, who seems torn between laughing uproariously and trying to rip Ikalgo’s head off with her very sharp, very deadly nails. “So your neck…” she says.

“Ikalgo’s an octopus. He has suction cups.” Killua scowls. “Have either of you ever made out with anyone? Ever? Because a hickey does not look like that, especially not one from Gon. Those look like this!” And he tugs the collar of his sweater to the side, revealing a much smaller but denser row of bruises.

Leorio groans and looks _anywhere else_. Palm chokes on a giggle. “So you two _are_ dating, then?”

Realizing what he’s admitting, Killua simply buries his face in his hands, steam coming out of his ears as Gon cackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [aka "idk hickeys?": the warm-up that got out of hand.](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/post/157639922153/marked-up)


	7. height problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they’re kids, Killua’s taller by a bit. By the time they grow up, Killua’s taller still. But there’s a brief moment when he’s not. and it’s ridiculous. (canonverse immediately post-reunion)

Killua notices the difference shortly after he turns sixteen and Gon tumbles back into his life, so much exactly as when they left each other but different in ways that Killua still hasn’t wrapped his mind around. And for a while it doesn’t matter, not with all of the excitement of traveling together, maybe for a few days but maybe for a few years, until they know each other again better than anyone else. But it’s become impossible to ignore, a familiar song that’s slightly out of tune and a hair offbeat, and Killua can’t take it anymore.

Their stuff is dumped haphazardly around their hotel room, because who cares about sorting clean and dirty socks when there’s catching up to do? Or that had been the problem at first. But Gon’s chatting away about some nen exorcist he visited, a friendly middle-aged woman with a Hunter for a wife and three kids about Alluka’s age, blissfully unaware of any glaring issues until Killua interrupts him. “Stand up.”

His best friend pauses mid-sentence, something about one of the kids and a mishap with their wheelchair. "Killua?”

He tries to scowl—it’s hard to frown when he’s been grinning for hours. “Just do it.”

Gon looks like he wants to say something else, but does what he’s asked without comment. Killua stands too, and walks over until they’re almost nose to nose, staring at his best friend’s stupid freckled cheeks. Gon’s eyes widen a little, eyebrows drawn in concern. “What’s wrong, Killua?”

Killua doesn’t answer verbally. He just reaches out and squashes his hand against the spikes of Gon’s hair, flattening them out. The pointy tips are just as unexpectedly soft as he remembers, like the ends of a brush. He brings his hand as level as he can towards his own head. It clears Killua’s white curls—barely.

Gon grins.

“When the hell did you get taller than me?” Killua demands. By maybe a finger’s width. Or two. If that.

His best friend shrugs. “I just hit my growth spurt a little while ago. I had to buy all new clothes, see?” He flaps his arms, as though trying to emphasize the long green sleeves and orange vest he’s been wearing, as though it's possible to avoid the eye-gouging colors.

It all makes so little sense that Killua can’t say anything sensible either. “You’re not allowed to be taller!”

Killua hates how much he loves Gon’s laugh, gleeful and bright and directed entirely at Killua’s distress. “It’s not really my choice, Killua. I’m even taller than Ging now.”

Which means Killua’s Ging’s height now, and that feels really weird for reasons Killua can’t put his finger on. Will he or Gon be taller than _Leorio_ some day? But he forces the thought aside by trying to smash his best friend’s head down to a more reasonable height, Gon whining even as his eyes dance.

Killua doesn’t realize he’s staring until Gon pulls just outside of arm’s reach, an introspective look on his face that would have been out of place a few years ago. “Do I look like…”

Like he did on the worst night of his life.

Killua swallows hard. He’s woken up in a cold sweat more times than he wants to admit, images of impossibly long hair and empty black eyes flashing on the back of his eyelids. The memories are bad enough but in his dreams, Gon doesn’t wake up, doesn’t come back, and part of Killua has been terrified meeting Gon would make all of those nightmares real. It’s so stupid that he’s been scared of seeing his best friend again, but what if that is the Gon he sees next time? It’s only been a few years. What if that is still Gon’s future?

But it’s not. Seeing this Gon, _his_ Gon, still his best friend even though they’ve been apart for so long, makes Killua realize even if that Gon is still there—and he is, earth-shattering anger just as much part of his best friend as his laughing eyes and stubborn smile—Killua isn’t worried anymore.

“You don’t,” Killua says, and brushes white curls out of his face to avoid the prickling in the back of his throat. “You’re you.”

“But I was me then, too.” His best friend bites his lip, obviously thinking too hard about what he’s trying to say. It makes his nose crinkle like a squished button. “I’m growing, but I don’t want to grow like that. I mean, maybe I will, but it’ll be me if I do. And I won’t push you away again, I promise.”

That’s a conversation they still need to have, but not right now. Killua takes part of the step back inside Gon’s reach, oddly relieved that his best friend doesn’t move away, lets him stay close enough to touch. “Like I said, you’re _you_ , Gon. You’re too selfish to be anything else.”

A small, hesitant smile returns to Gon’s face. “Really?”

“Promise,” Killua says. He looks Gon over from his spiky hair to his booted feet, pretending to not notice how his muscles are filling out or how right his stupid shirt looks. “You just need to stop growing.”

“Aunt Mito thinks I’ve got another year or so before I’m done.” Gon’s grin widens, guileless and wholly innocent. “I’m gonna be so much taller than you, Killua!”

The very thought is ridiculous. _Gon_ is ridiculous. “You are not!” Killua splutters.

And then, horror of horrors, Gon reaches out, and down from the almost negligent distance he’s taller than Killua now, and pats Killua on the head like he’s a fluffy kitten. “You’re so small now. Is this what it was like before for you? And now you’re tiny!”

Killua can’t be held responsible for tackling Gon at that, toppling the both of them to the floor and pinning Gon down. “You take that back, or else,” he says.

Gon wriggles, trying to break free. He really has gotten stronger, but so has Killua. “I’m just saying what’s true, Killua.”

The need for terrible, glorious vengeance floods Killua’s veins and he bends over his best friend, a malignant smirk on his face that makes Gon’s eyes widen. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, and attacks.

He’s rewarded by a screech, Gon trying to curl away from the inevitable assault on his most ticklish spots. Killua keeps him trapped with a mix of strength and stubborn willpower as he dances tickling fingers across his best friend, narrowly missing getting a bloody nose to a flailing hand as Killua finds the spot just above the elbow that’s always been a weakness.

“St-staaaaahahahap!” Gon manages to squeak out.

“Stop saying I’m short!” Killua says, pinning Gon’s legs under his thighs to keep from being thrown off. The movement makes Gon’s shirt ride up, and Killua shifts his fingers to dart across the warm brown skin at his waist.

Gon is laughing so hard he’s not even making any noise, just little yelps as he squirms. “Is that a yes?” Killua says.

That earns him a ferocious nod, and Killua finally relents, letting Gon flop against the carpet as he tries to get his giggling under control. He’s turned red from head to collar, freckles deepening along his cheeks and peeking out from beneath the hem of his shirt. When he opens his eyes, they’re full of sunny joy that warms Killua under every inch of his skin, all the way down to his toes.

This is nothing new. Being around Gon makes the world a little brighter, it always has. But what’s unexpected is how the sight of Gon trapped between his legs, flushed and panting and unreservedly happy, makes Killua’s heart do a triple backflip and parkour its way up his throat until he feels like he can’t breathe, like he needs to lean down and—

Um. _What_.

“Hey, Killua? Are you okay? I’m sorry I called you short even though you are now—”

Killua does his best to shove the weird feeling right back where it came from as he renews his attack, not relenting even when Gon says through choked laughter and giggling sobs that he’ll never do it again, he promises.

What an asshole of a best friend. Why did Killua miss him anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [struggling with writer's block is the worst but fluff exists, especially on my tumblr](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/post/158466146818/height-problems)


	8. up at the crack of noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get up, Killua! (No, seriously, Killua, wake up, it's your birthday.) (canonverse, aged-up/late teens killugon)

Killua is woken at the crack of 11:45am by his best friend dragging him out of bed by his feet and dropping him straight on his ass, massive fluffy comforter from this hotel bed tumbling after him.

“What the  _fuck_  Gon—” Killua snarls, before he’s smacked in the face with his jeans, followed shortly by a shirt that does not match and what’s probably a clean pair of boxers. At least, they taste clean when they land against his mouth. Hopefully Gon remembered which pile is clean and which one is Gon’s.

“Come on, Killua, come on come on!” Gon says, tossing another shirt at him like he knows the first one doesn’t work. Not that Gon has ever learned anything about clothes, and probably never will, judging by how it’s been five years and he still thinks green and orange is a good combination.

It’s  _not_  good, Killua tries to tell himself, but he really can’t. It’s good because it’s Gon.

But screw it, Killua doesn’t want to be up, he doesn’t want to be come on Killua-ing, and dammit he doesn’t want to be leaving his bed at all. And since the bed is up there, and it’s too much effort to go back into it, Killua does his best to curl up in the blanket and ignore his too awake, too sunny best friend. “It’s my birthday. I wanna sleep. G’nite, Gon,” he grumbles, and curls up in a ball.

“Killuaaa _aaaaa_.” Gon pulls his name out into a whine that leaves it high-pitched and shrill, but it isn’t enough to make Killua leave his blanket ball. He could attempt a rescue mission on the pillows, but that would leave him open to being awake. And that is not acceptable.

Also not acceptable is Gon tugging his ankles out and starting to shove his legs into jeans. Killua unspools himself enough from his blanket enough to try to kick his best friend in the face, succeeding only in freeing one leg. Gon fumbles to try to restrain him, pulling one pants leg almost up to the knee before losing his grip. “Killua, we’re going to be late. Get dressed!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Gon drops on top of his legs, shoving aside the blanket and utterly failing to finish with the jeans. But it also keeps Killua from continuing to scramble away as Gon shoves a shirt over his head. “Let me go!”

“This wouldn’t be such a problem if you got dressed and let us leave.”

“This wouldn’t be such a problem if you just left and let me sleep.”

“You know we can’t!”

Killua wriggles desperately, and only succeeds in giving Gon an opening to further pull his shirt on. It also tangles his arms through one of the sleeves, the soft cotton creaking warningly as he pulls too hard. “Dammit, Gon, I like this shirt.”

“Then put it on!”

“No!”

Gon growls and tugs again. “Killua—”

There’s a loud knock at the door, and Killua peers around his best friend to see his little sister standing in the threshold to his room, one hand over her eyes. “Gon, I told you to get Brother up, not make sure he never leaves the room,” she says.

Killua is abruptly aware of exactly what this might look like: both of them wrestling with his clothes, Killua’s hair an absolute mess and his pants caught around his knees, Gon on top of him. Killua feels his cheeks explode and he does his best to pull his shirt on all the way. “I’ve been trying,” Gon says, and gestures at the mess like it’s all Killua’s fault.

Despite having her eyes covered, Alluka gives both of them an expression of pure disbelief. “We’re never going to make the chocorobo factory tour if we don’t leave now, and then your birthday present will be ruined.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Killua asks Gon.

He grins, eyes dancing. “Maybe if I put your clothes on myself, I would know how to get them off later?”

Killua’s throat goes completely dry. “Is that a promise?” he manages, voice much smoother than he expects.

Gon’s smile widens dangerously.

Alluka sighs, stomping the room in as few steps as possible to pull Gon out by the back of his neck just before he presses his lips to Killua’s. He shrugs apologetically and lets himself be dragged away. “We’re leaving in two minutes, Brother!” she calls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they go to the chocorobo factory with Ikalgo and Palm, Killua has to be physically pried away from the enormous chocolate statue in the front, and he and Gon sneak back in that night to take its head off. It's Killua's birthday, after all, Gon won't tell him no.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr!](https://xyliane.tumblr.com)


	9. crack in the code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "could you be happy, here, with me?" for

_System Start_

* * *

The room is as blindingly white as always, but even with the sharp extremes between impossible blackness and bright light, Killua doesn’t squint against it. He expects it, is used to it, after so many times. The workspace, or whatever the computer thinks is a workspace, is just a manifestation, a hole in the wall from the main program.

There’s never much in the room. A worn leather chair, maybe, cushion indented and cracked from the weight of years and people who may never have existed. A folding table with a half-finished card game. Once, there had been a tree, so wide Killua couldn’t wrap his arms around it, whose leaves had rustled and had given no shadow against the stark white floor.

But always, when the power comes on, Killua sits unblinking and cross-legged in the center of the blinding white space, white curls just messy enough to flop across his blue eyes and pale skin. It’s not uncomfortable, but only because the sensation of being corporeal for a moment is more disorienting than uncomfortable. He’s used to just…being, not having all his sensations focused through a single form.

Once, the only people who would visit were family members. Mostly Illumi, whose black hair and blacker eyes analyzed Killua’s work and offered critiques and advice. Occasionally Father came by, or Mom with little Kalluto trailing by, sometimes with upgrades and sometimes with questions. Long ago, before he’d been permanently placed here, there had been other people, other visitors, other places he could go or see or be. But he doesn’t remember them, the images deliberately blurred away in his memory with a massive black hole in the middle made in the shape of an emotion he forgets how to feel.

That was before. Now, the person who appears into the white space, spiked black hair full of static and body forming gently out of a rainbow of pixels, is not from his family. The boy, a teenager not much older than Killua appears to be, would make Killua’s breath catch if he bothered to breathe. Maybe it’s the irregular stripe of freckles across his nose, or the stupid (why stupid?) orange stripes across his jacket. He sits in a position identical to Killua’s and directly across from him, hands on his knees and boots tucked under his knees, and it’s a moment before he remembers to open his eyes. His dark eyes aren’t blank like Illumi’s, but flashing and sparkling, too alive to be a simple program. He could be an AI like Killua, but no Zoldyck would ever create someone like this boy. Killua’s not entirely sure if they could.

And then he smiles, brown eyes shimmering. “Killua!”

Killua only barely catches the boy before they both go tumbling. He feels more real than anything else, warm and strangely familiar—even the coarse jacket he wears is a green Killua can’t help but feel fond for, the weave creaking under Killua’s grip. He laughs, but is unsure why. “What the hell?”

“I thought—” The boy cuts himself off, nuzzling the not-quite-cotton fabric of Killua’s shirt. “I thought you were gone.”

“Gone where?” Killua asks stupidly.

The boy shakes his head, black spikes of hair tickling the bottom of Killua’s chin. “But I couldn’t…They hid you, Killua, and I couldn’t find you.”

“Who’s they?” Killua pushes him away, just enough that he can see tear-stained freckles and brown cheeks. He wants to wipe those tears away, to reach out and comfort this stranger, when touch is…not unwanted, exactly, but it’s never something given before. “No, wait. Who are you?”

The boy shudders before visibly containing himself, a movement Killua almost misses. It’s an action that’s been repeated before, enough that it is almost reflexive, even if it seems unnatural. This boy wears everything on his sleeve. Except whatever that was, perhaps. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re  _crying_. Of course it matters!”

The boy leans back and wipes his face with the back of his sleeve, only making more of a mess like a child with his first tissues. If Killua felt emotions like that, he’d simply change his appearance to make it look like he’d never cried in the first place. “No it doesn’t,” he says again.

Killua growls, or tries to. “Yes it does! I want—”

“Do you want to leave here?”

The question stops Killua cold. He can almost feel the programming that creates every part of him overheating to make sense of the words in the air. There’s something missing, more than the empty parts inside himself, something about this boy. Or maybe it’s something he’s said before that is gone, deleted by himself or someone with the keys to his head. And now this boy is looking at him, the only thing of color in this white space, and every response to this ridiculous question seems insignificant and meaningless.

Does he want to leave. Want has nothing to do with it. Maybe it’s a flaw, an error in his code that no one caught. But Killua  _always_ wants to leave, to go, to be more than what he was made to be. To find whatever it is that he’s missing.

He can’t. It’s as simple as that.

“I’m only a program,” Killua says.

The boy’s brow creases, not confused but…worried? “What if you’re not?” he asks. “What if you don’t have to be?”

“What do you—”

“You can leave.” The boy holds out his hand. In it is little drive, wrapped in crystal and bound in little images that flicker across the almost-translucent surface. If Killua looks closely, he can make out himself in miniature, an unfamiliar smile on his face and a girl with black hair at his side. But the picture vanishes almost instantly, replaced with static around the boy, then with a mountain, and a tower and an airship and a million other scenes.

Killua’s hand is reaching for the boy’s almost before he knows what’s happening, drawn in by a want stronger than gravity. But he stops, close enough to touch warm brown skin. There’s a tangible electric feel in the space between their fingers, almost like a storm made of static. “What about you?” he asks.

The boy shrugs. “This is for you.”

Killua pulls his fingers into a fist, dragging back to his chest. “I can’t take something from someone I don’t know. It could be a…a virus, or malware, or corrupted code.”

“It’s not.” The drive is pushed insistently towards him, the boy’s eyes still damp but firm and insistent. “Take it, Killua. Please.”

This feels wrong. It’s everything, it’s too much, it’s so close, but it’s not… Whatever he’s missing, it’s gone and he can’t get it back. And there’s a feeling that if he does, everything will go away. His home, his prison, this place—Killua has wanted to leave since he can remember, but if he leaves, who would he be?

Who is this boy, that Killua wants to know so much? That he feels like he should already, but knows he doesn’t?

The boy’s expression doesn’t change, but he closes his fingers loosely. “Or I can stay with you,” he says.

Killua starts. “Why would you do that?”

“I can stay here, as long as you don’t go away anymore. You might remember…” Gon turns his head, taking in the plain white space and the almost imperceptible change between floor and walls and ceiling. “Could you be happy, here, with me?”

“Could you?”

The boy’s smile softens, freckles deepening against dark skin. “I’m happy whenever I’m with you, Killua.”

It feels like his chest is trying to tear him apart, little metal claws prying apart the area under his skin until there’s nothing but jumbled data left, or maybe even blood and bone and tears. He bleeds and doesn’t know where the wound started, if he’d been bleeding all along unnoticed and uncaring. And worst, Killua doesn’t know why. “How can you be happy if I don’t know who you are?”

“You’re you, Killua. Wherever and whatever you are, with or without whatever this is. Like I’m me. This might have the answers you want, but it might not. I don’t know.” He holds out the drive again, palm up and fingers spread. “I’m so sorry. It took me a long time to find this, and I thought I’d never see you again. Whether you want this or not, I don’t want to lose you again. It wouldn’t…”

“…be right,” Killua finishes. He takes another long stare at the boy, who looks up at him with hope and confidence and more than a little stubborn determination. Not a single iota of doubt. Killua takes a deep breath. It feels comforting, somehow, even in this tasteless empty space. “Okay. As long as when I do this, you take me away from here.”

The boy’s grin wrenches to the side just a bit, a spark of challenge and fondness that turns Killua’s nonexistent stomach inside-out. “Of course, Killua. Wherever you want. Like always.”

_Always_. An  _always_ Killua can’t remember, that this boy does. An  _always_ that means something enough that his chest still aches with unhealed wounds. An  _always_ that means more than this empty useless whiteness all around him. An  _always_ outside of whatever he’s made to be.

Killua wants that  _always_. He wants to leave, and he wants to leave with this familiar stranger of a boy.

So Killua grabs onto the boy’s hand, and the last thing he notices before the cacophony of information sweeps him away in a memory dump, is how warm Gon’s skin is against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblrrrrr](https://xyliane.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing)


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